


seriatim

by eastern_wind



Series: seriatim [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Kyuubi-centric, Minor Haruno Sakura/Uzumaki Naruto, if you squint veeery hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastern_wind/pseuds/eastern_wind
Summary: seriatim | [seer-ee-ey-tim]adverb, adjective1. in a series; one after another.





	seriatim

It was never meant to happen like this.

Kurama is both young and old, vast and infinitesimal, mighty and inert at the same time in the way only a creature of nature can be. He roams the lands with his brothers, free as the wind, wild like fire, quick like river and inescapable like an earthquake. Then humans come with their ink and steel and bend the world to their will.

Kurama wakes up with a howl, bound and chained to the woman that has hair crimson as his fur and rage in her blood that equals his. They hate each other for decades that feel like centuries and when she finally dies, he revels in the last rays of her fading light.

Freedom is so close he can almost taste it, but the chains don’t give in. In the wake of her passing Kurama roars in fury, still a prisoner, still helpless.

A child that meets his blazing eyes is filled with grief and when the needles of her immature but already blooming with hatred chakra pierce his very immortal soul, all he can see is red. He swears to have her blood, but seals binding him hold tight.

Kurama spends next fifteen years nurturing his revenge and before he knows, something changes – the world spins into blackness and he is free. Taller than any mountain, harsher than storming sea, he hails destruction on the puny humans that dared to cage him until his dying jailer steps in the way of his rampage.

“You can kill me,” she hisses as red-red-red spills down her neck and chest, “you can take my blood and destroy my soul, but you will not hurt my son.”

Kurama snarls, baring his sharp teeth, laughs mockingly as he tears her apart.

She dies and those cursed chains fall. Destruction – pure, unadulterated joy of the kill – fills him as power of storms once did. He is unstoppable, untamable, unfettered.

Nine tales spinning, calling forth scorching the very air hurricanes, he rages into the night but –

something stirs under his paws, hot like fire and blinding like sun Kurama hasn’t seen for more than half a century. He lowers his head to sniff at the tiny starling, curiosity winning over rage. It’s a child – human child with his soul bright, vivid in its untainted innocence – and Kurama freezes. 

This second of hesitation is his downfall.

The chains dig into his skin, tearing crimson fur away as they shove a worldful of chakra into a vessel not yet having more than a speck of its own, but Kurama’s eyes are too fixed on the blue like ocean waters and yellow like seashore sands to fight the pull. This child smells like his jailors – too human to be trusted – yet it feels like home. He goes down without a fight for the first time in his ages-long life.

It's worth every year he spent in captivity.

The child grows among the hatred that's entirely familiar and Kurama is ready to feast on his mirroring enmity. It never comes. Trust is never built easily, yet the boy has never been anything but an open heart ready to bleed for everyone and everything. He loves the whole world, life itself so fiercely that it tears down all misconception about humanity Kurama came to believe in his long life and, at some point, he gives in. 

Twenty now, he's nothing Kurama's previous hosts used to be – glowing like midday sun, he descends onto battlefields and his foes fall prey of his light. He is always on the frontlines, the first to protect weak and wounded and Kurama's fury that used to corrupt so easily, turns into power of the nature, pure and unaligned. He shares it freely and the boy opens his mind in return. 

Kurama can see the world again, bask in the sunlight along with his host – until his time comes. Age claims him with inevitability they both aren't prepared for. He passes surrounded by friends and family that are both his and Kurama's and when the night – moonless, starless nothingness of the void – stares at him through the empty pupils of his dying human, for the first time since tiny devils dared to bind him to their flimsy bodies Kurama feels regret.

The chains come undone and he howls, free at last and unbelievably alone.

The winds touch his fur as he rises above skyscrapers, his paws careful not to squish little figures milling below - unafraid. Mountains call for him, rivers sing but he stands - unmoving.

Down below where the body of his last host - the first that came to him with open heart and untainted soul - burns on a ritual pyre, a tiny star the color of ripe rye with eyes emerald as deep sea and full of hope welcomes him like her grandfather once did. Her seal - her own creation, made just for him - shines bright and her chains feel like an embrace. It was never meant to happen like this, but this time Kurama doesn't hesitate and the circle begins 

anew.

 


End file.
